


Moment Of

by unalignedant



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Underage Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unalignedant/pseuds/unalignedant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t that Shiro is ashamed of his mechanical arm, exactly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment Of

**Author's Note:**

> Voltron took over my brain. Un-beta'd.

It isn’t that Shiro is ashamed of his mechanical arm, exactly; it’s more the unsettling discomfort of knowing ( _not_ knowing) how he got it. He tries to avoid thinking about that, is learning to accept it as a fact he cannot change and therefore not worth agonizing over. Still, it’s hard to avoid thinking about his arm, hard to avoid being slightly flustered under the laser precision scrutiny that Keith is currently giving it.

“Does the tactile perception extend past your hand?” Keith asks, pressing his fingers against Shiro’s forearm. The fact that Shiro feels a flood of warmth spreading out from his arm, settling somewhere in the area of his stomach says that it does, but Shiro thinks that might also be due to the fact that Keith is casually straddling Shiro’s lap as he examines the Galra tech. 

“Y-yes,” Shiro stammers, cutting off anything else he was planning to say when Keith reaches up to brush his fingers across the spot where mechanical meets flesh on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” Keith asks seriously, eyes large and dark where they’re inches from Shiro’s own.

“Not exactly,” Shiro manages, only continuing when Keith raises an eyebrow in silent question. “It’s more of, um. It just feels. Weird. Not pain, but, just strange. Look--” Shiro inhales sharply when Keith shifts on his lap. “Can we talk about this later?” He punctuates this request by sliding his hand (his real hand) under Keith’s t-shirt and is rewarded with a slight blush across Keith’s face and a small twitch of Keith’s stomach muscles under his hand.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Keith grumbles, but without any real bite behind it. Shiro softly runs his fingers over Keith’s skin, watching him intently until Keith sighs in resignation and puts his hands on Shiro’s chest. Shiro smiles because he knows he’s won; not something easily come by with Keith.

“If anyone is distracting, it’s you,” Shiro says, still smiling, emphasizing this by fitting his hands to Keith’s waist and tugging him closer, not quite tipping them back onto Shiro’s bed, but nearly. Keith makes a disgruntled noise but his blush deepens and his fingers tighten against Shiro’s chest.

“Whatever,” Keith mutters, eyes narrowed, and when he shifts against Shiro again in a way that all of Shiro finds _extremely_ distracting, Shiro is pretty sure he does it totally on purpose.

“Just promise me you’ll let Pidge look at the tech again,” Keith says fiercely, eyes suddenly ablaze in a way that causes Shiro to stop for a tick and blink at him as Keith continues in a demanding rush. “You’re so busy taking care of the rest of us but you need to let us take care of you, too. And you need to _talk_ to me about this stuff.”

Shiro knows he shouldn’t feel apologetic for having issues, but as a leader he’s never felt quite right burdening anyone with his personal troubles. The team (and the galaxy) are facing problems much bigger than his own. But he also knows that a team needs a leader who can be counted on to reliably know when he himself needs help. Because everyone needs help, at least sometimes. And here, in the quiet of his room, with Keith looking at him with eyes gone soft yet achingly honest, Shiro figures he won’t find anywhere better to ask.

Shiro reaches up with his new arm and puts his hand against Keith’s cheek; Keith doesn’t so much as blink, just keeps watching Shiro silently.

“I promise,” Shiro says, and means it. Keith smiles, his small, private smile, that Shiro never gets tired of seeing.

“Good,” Keith says, and Shiro nods.

“Now,” Shiro says, shifting his hands back to Keith’s waist. “I’d really like to kiss you.”

Keith blushes furiously and Shiro tries not to laugh.

“I was getting to that,” Keith says with a scowl, and Shiro can’t help the small laugh that escapes. He quickly leans up to press their lips together before Keith gets any grumpier. It works, and Keith relaxes against him, so Shiro instinctively deepens the kiss, mumbling in appreciation when Keith lets him. Shiro is suddenly hyper aware of their breathing and how warm (and getting warmer) he feels at every place Keith is pressed against him. He thinks it makes such obvious sense that Keith would pilot Red because Shiro has always thought of Keith as a collection of barely contained flames that flare erratically and can be dangerous if you get too close. Shiro’s grateful he was never afraid of fire.

They break apart for a moment and Shiro feels that pleasant warmth start to burn greedily when he stares at Keith; Keith’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, mouth wet and his breathing uneven. Shiro decides their current sitting position is not working anymore so he topples them backwards onto the bed, earning a muffled “oof” from Keith when Shiro flips him onto his back and leans over him, immediately angling down for another kiss. Keith makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, squirming against Shiro slightly, and Shiro is seriously thinking about how they’re both considerably overdressed when the door whooshes open.

“--Shiro it’s a _major_ situation that’s probably Keith’s fault so you _oh my quiznak_!” Lance screeches incoherently, covering his eyes and turning back only to slam into a wall. Shiro quickly sits up and drags a hand down his face, taking a steadying breath and hoping he isn't as beet red as he feels.

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro starts.

“Is this real, is he really here right now?” Keith is asking in disbelief as Lance continues carrying on wildly in the background.

“Oh my god, my god my eyes, get a _room_ you guys!” Lance shrieks, finally finding his way blindly to the door.

“We’re _in a room_ ,” Keith thunders incredulously, moving to go after Lance with a murderous look on his face.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro says with a sigh, grabbing Keith’s arm.

“Control room!” Lance yells over his shoulder, eyes still shielded and knocking into walls outside Shiro’s door as he escapes down the hall and disappears around a corner while babbling. “Situation! Now! _Control room_!”

Shiro sighs again and looks ruefully ( _regretfully_ ) at Keith, who still looks shellshocked. Even totally confused Keith looks attractive, and Shiro vows to get both (real and fake) hands on him again as soon as possible. Finally Keith makes an extremely aggravated noise and rolls his eyes, snapping Shiro back to the current problem.

“He’s going to die,” Keith says to himself under his breath, clambering to his feet and yanking his jacket off Shiro’s chair violently. “He’s going to die, and I’m going to kill him.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro says imploringly, following after him and putting his (replacement) hand on Keith’s arm as Keith finishes shrugging into his jacket. Keith looks up at him, eyebrows raised. Shiro leans down and kisses him again, softly, sliding his (new) hand up into Keith’s hair. Keith blinks rapidly a few times, then inhales a deep breath.

“Fine,” Keith breathes out. “I won’t kill him. Yet.” He quirks a half smile and Shiro smiles reflexively in return.

“But don’t think I forgot about your promise, either,” Keith says emphatically, tapping Shiro’s mechanical arm lightly. Shiro feels the tap; he knows the easy touch of Keith’s fingers, and can swear he feels the feathery edges of Keith’s hair. He nods.

“Of course.”


End file.
